


In Cambridge

by placentalmammal



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Armor Kink, Cunnilingus, F/F, Gags, Oral Sex, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 02:04:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6933559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/placentalmammal/pseuds/placentalmammal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things get heated during a surprise inspection of the Cambridge police station. Originally posted <a href="http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/7011.html?thread=19549539#t19549539">here</a> on the Fallout Kink Meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Cambridge

In the weeks since the Prydwen arrived in the commonwealth, the Cambridge Police Station had been a hub of activity. Teams of scribes descended on the Station like worker ants: they reinforced the barricades, installed heavy ordinance on the roof, upgraded the work benches and power armor stations. Teegan had granted them a Mark-II autodoc and Maxson had assigned a small medical unit, transforming the Police Station into a three-bed field hospital. Hovering at the periphery, watching the others work, Haylen felt slightly extraneous. For months, she'd been the only scribe in Cambridge: alpha and omega, responsible for everything from communications to weapon maintenance to cataloging incoming tech.

Now, her duties consisted of sitting on her hands and waiting for other scribes to return from the field. Danse had decreed her "too valuable" to risk in field operations and reassigned her to a supervisory position. She spent her days cleaning and cataloging haptic drives and fusion cores, pressing the field scribes for details about the ruins they'd combed and the data they'd gathered.

Half the time, she was alone in the empty motor bay, ears attuned for the squawk of her two-way radio or the roar of an approaching Vertibird. During her long hours alone, Haylen invented tasks to keep herself busy and prayed for reassignment to a more interesting post.

Noon on a Friday, and she was alone again, elbows-deep in a complicated pre-war diesel engine, grease smeared along the front of her coat. Weeks earlier, she had broken regulations and repaired a radio in order to listen to the local music station during her idle hours. The DJ had the charisma of a limp dishrag, but he played the same Pre-War standards she'd grown up listening to in the Capital Wasteland. She hummed along to an Ink Spots ballad and wrenched a grimy fuel injector free of its casing, holding it up to the light for inspection.

"Cambridge, this is Claymore, come in Cambridge."

Startled by the sudden squawk of her ham radio, she nearly dropped the fuel injector. Heart hammering, she wiped her filthy hands on her trousers and picked up the receivers. "This is Cambridge," she confirmed. "Come in Claymore."

"Cambridge approach, this is Claymore. We’re steady at level eight thousand, requesting clearance, over.”

“Claymore, descend and maintain at level six thousand. Will clear for landing once I get a visual.”

“Acknowledged, Claymore out.” A bark of static, and Haylen returned the transceiver to its cradle. She left the garage and stood in the main yard to wait for the approaching ‘bird. She shaded her eyes and scanned the horizon, squinting against the bright sky. The vertibird appeared: a black speck on the eastern horizon, and she returned to the garage.

“Claymore, this is Cambridge. Visual confirmed, you’re clear for approach and landing, over.”

“Ten-four. Claymore out.”

Haylen darted inside and ran through the station, ignoring the glares she received from the knights on guard duty. Let them frown; they were allowed to _leave_.

Haylen mounted the stairs two at a time. She burst onto the roof just as the noise of the approaching ‘bird’s rotors faded in, the sound pitched low and distorted by distance. It grew larger and larger until it was hovering overhead, the downdraft forcing Haylen backwards, against the wall. The pilot circled twice and set the ‘bird down on the landing pad with a thud that rattled Haylen’s teeth in her jaw.

The bird spooled down and its passengers disembarked: a pilot, two senior scribes with the insignia of the Order of the Shield on their shoulders and--

"Proctor Ingram!" Breathless, Haylen saluted with her fist on her breast.

Grinning lazily, the Proctor returned the salute while the scribes and pilot disappeared into the police station, already dismissed. "At ease, Scribe. How're things here?"

Ingram was a legend: after a career-ending combat injury in the Capital Wasteland, she'd had both legs amputated at the knee. After she recovered, Ingram had singlehandedly redesigned and rebuilt her power armor frame to accommodate her disability and restore her mobility. She'd worked her way up to the rank of Proctor of the Order of the Shield _after_ she'd been removed from field duty, _and_ she'd kicked the asses of every scorned rival who'd called her a pity case.

"All quiet, Proctor," said Haylen.

"Very good," said Ingram. "And if you don't mind my saying so, it is god _damn_ good to be off that tub." She grinned again, and Haylen swallowed nervously.

"Ma'am?"

"Don't worry about it, Scribe. You're Haylen, right? Where's Danse? I'm here to check your defensive fortifications and power armor stations. Surprise field inspection."

"Paladin Danse is in the field with his team," said Haylen, stumbling over her words. "I'm the provisional commander of this outpost until his return."

Ingram nodded. "Then you'll do the honors, Scribe. Lead on."

Haylen stuttered an affirmative and lead Ingram around the Station, pointing out turrets and reinforced walls and windows. "At my recommendation, we installed additional ordinance on the roof of the surrounding buildings," she said, a little breathless. "We've managed to incorporate a lot of reclaimed technology into our defenses here, including the advanced weaponry recovered from the chrome domes in ArcJet Systems."

Ingram nodded, pausing to inspect a turret. "This is a really clever design," she said, plainly impressed. "Who built these systems?"

"I did, Proctor," said Haylen, a flush of pride in her voice. "It's a modification on the standard Mark-IV laser turret, but with tweaks to the targeting modules and heatsinks to increase fire rate without compromising accuracy. We recovered pre-war cryogenic technology from a Vault in the northwest sector, which has--"

"Very good, Scribe," said Ingram, stepping back, pneumatics hissing and popping with every ground-shaking step. In her custom frame, she stood a full eighteen inches taller than Haylen: bigger and broader. Craning her neck to look up at the other woman, Haylen flushed again, for reasons that had nothing to do with professional pride.

"You've done good work, here," Ingram continued. "I'd say you're due for an official commendation." She glanced around, taking in the humming generators and salvaged lights. "Is all of this your work?"

"Nearly all," said Haylen. "We've been contracting civilian teams to scout some ruins, and they've been an invaluable resource. We're paying them above-market wages to build up good will."

"Good," said Ingram. "Good, good. Now let me take a look at your power armor stations." Her armor creaking and huffing with each step, she descended the stairs into the motor bay where the dissected engine still lay scattered across the work benches. The contraband radio was still playing, the DJ's adolescent voice pouring out of the tinny speakers while he stuttered his way through a news broadcast.

Embarrassed, Haylen stepped forward and snapped the radio off. "Sorry Proctor," she muttered. "Won't happen again."

“Relax, Scribe,” said Ingram. “I’m not about to report you. The proscription against personal electronics is just an excuse to confiscate holo games from the Squires. And hell, you’ve got command of this base, so it’s not like there’s anyone to report you to.” Another grin, and Haylen had a brief impression of the young woman Ingram had been years earlier--energetic, full of fire, in love with her work, not too bothered about the particulars of the Codex.

Haylen swallowed, a nervous flutter behind her breastbone. “Yes ma’am. Proctor.”

“Ingram is fine,” she said. “Enough with the titles and ranks. You’re not even in my Order, I’m not your c.o.”

“Ingram,” Haylen repeated. “Yes, um. Uh, here’s the power armor stations--”

Red-faced, she indicated the two work stations with a gesture. One station held an defunct frame, the other stood empty. Ingram stooped to examine the frame, and Haylen hovered at her elbow, embarrassed by the engine grease on her coat and the messy state of the motor bay. It was her own private kingdom, and she’d let it fall into disrepair--

“Looks good,” said Ingram. The older woman took a step backward, nearly crushing Haylen’s foot. She yelped and jumped out of the way, losing her footing and falling backwards.

Before she landed on her ass, Ingram reached out and caught her, one massive arm looping ‘round Haylen’s waist. The proctor pulled her upright and set her gently on her feet. “I didn’t realize you were standing so close.”

“Sorry,” said Haylen, the tips of her ears turning red.

“Don’t apologize,” said Ingram. She was standing a half-step closer than protocol and social norms permitted, close enough that Haylen could see the grey strands in her auburn hair. Ingram was older, distinguished, experienced, intelligent. Haylen looked up at her, and wished that the other woman would kiss her. To hell with protocol, Haylen wanted to feel Ingram’s hands and mouth.

Face burning, she swallowed another apology. “You make me nervous,” Haylen admitted. “You’re amazing, I want to impress you--”

“You already have,” said Ingram, a rasping edge in her voice. Slowly, plainly telegraphing her movements to allow Haylen a chance to pull away, she put her hand on the younger woman’s cheek. Haylen shivered, nerves singing, and stood firm. Grinning, Ingram picked her up easily and set her on the workbench, crouching between her legs. “What about now?” she said, one massive hand on each of Haylen’s knees. “Does this make you nervous?”

Mute, Haylen stared down at the other woman, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Yes,” she said, squirming as Ingram nudged her legs apart.

“Should I stop?” Ingram remained perfectly still, her touch feather-light. Her words were teasing, but her tone was grave. Haylen thought, irrationally, of the ‘bird requesting clearance to approach and she swallowed a laugh.

“No,” she whispered.

Ingram resettled herself between Haylen’s spread legs, making herself comfortable on the hard concrete floor. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” she said, squeezing Haylen’s thighs through her trousers. “Me too. Can’t go hunting for strange on the fucking Prydwen, Maxson’d have me court-martialled in a heartbeat.”

Haylen couldn’t suppress a laugh. “He’s just mad he’s not getting any,” she said, surprising herself with her daring. She had her reservations about the Brotherhood’s leadership, but with Danse around, she had no opportunity to express them.

The other woman laughed: a short, loud bark of amusement. “Goddamn, you’re feisty underneath all that protocol,” she said, armored fingertips digging into Haylen’s flesh. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.” She squeezed, and Haylen gasped, spine curling as Ingram tugged at her trousers. “Come on, let’s get those pants off,” she said huskily. “I wanna see if you’re a natural redhead.”

Blushing scarlet, Haylen helped the other woman remove her pants. On impulse, she shrugged out of her coat and pushed the strap of her undershirt down over her shoulder, letting one breast fall out of her camisole. Grinning, Ingram flicked her nipple then caught it between her lips, mouth hot and wet against Haylen’s chest.

Whimpering, she pushed forward into Ingram’s touch, but the other woman held her in place, armored hands firm on Haylen’s hips. The workbench was cold against Haylen’s bare ass, but Ingram’s mouth and armor were feverishly warm. The contrast set Haylen’s nerves on end. She shivered and flushed, freezing and burning simultaneously as Ingram stooped to press her face into the thatch of red curls between Haylen’s spread legs.

Haylen cried out, gripping the edge of the workbench with trembling hands. Ingram pulled back to shush her, pointer finger pressed vertically to her lips. “Keep your voice down,” she said, low and hoarse. “Don’t want an audience, do you?”

Clumsy and frantic with arousal, Haylen shook her head, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Good girl,” Ingram purred, and she leaned in again, parting Haylen’s lips with her thumb and forefinger. She lapped at her seam: broad, slow licks from her hole to her clit and back down again, sloppy in her enthusiasm. A whimper escaped her lips as her hips twitched forward against the older woman’s mouth. The workbench creaking underneath her and Haylen groaned, head lolling on her neck.

Ingram leaned back again. The loss of her warm mouth was an agony, and Haylen cried out, pushing forward against her hands, seeking contact. The older woman held her still, brows furrowed. “I need you to keep quiet,” she said seriously. “We’re not doing anything _wrong_ , but I can’t have my scribes overhearing.”

“Sorry,” Haylen said, red-cheeked, her tongue thick and clumsy in her mouth. “I haven’t--I haven’t done _this_ in a while.” Ingram’s hands were gentle but firm on Haylen’s thighs, metal warming against Haylen’s skin. She shivered, eyes fluttering shut, shoulders curling forward. She was breathing hard, panting like she’d run a mile.

“Ordinarily, I’m not one for...props,” said Ingram. “But if you’ve got anything to bite down on, keep yourself from crying out…” She glanced around the workshop and shrugged.

Haylen’s blush deepened. “What, like a belt? All I’ve got in here are the clothes on my back.”

Ingram looked at her appraisingly. “That might work,” she said, plucking at Haylen’s undershirt. “Take your cami off, use it like a gag.” She sat back on her haunches and waited.

Swallowing, Haylen peeled her shirt off. Ingram’s hard eyes wandered approvingly over her naked torso, lingering on her small breasts and toned arms. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” Ingram said, gently squeezing Haylen’s thighs. “The Brotherhood lifestyle agrees with you, I can tell.”

“Yeah,” whispered Haylen, nervously twisting her shirt in her hands. She was grimy, covered in a sheen of grit and sweat. Hadn’t had a proper shower in a couple days, had just scrubbed her pits and crotch in front of the sink in the ladies’ restroom. Her fingernails were ragged and bitten, a week's’ worth of filth underneath her nails and caked in her nail beds. Ingram was fresh and clean, hair pulled back in a no-nonsense bun, cheeks colored from arousal rather than exertion. Haylen felt another swoop of inadequacy, but then Ingram was licking her again, eager and messy, and rational thought deserted her.

She had enough presence of mind to press the wadded undershirt against her lips to muffle her cries. Ingram was unrelenting, tongue and lips lathing over her clit and lips. She built up a steady rhythm, and Haylen lurched forward, eyes screwed shut. She hooked her legs over Ingram’s shoulders, crossing them behind the other woman’s head. She chuckled against Haylen’s cunt, massive steel hands sliding up her hips to cradle and support her torso, holding her in place while she sucked on Haylen’s clit, face shining with her juices.

Haylen screamed behind the improvised gag, pressing the tank top against her face with both hands, rocking back and forth on the cold, creaking bench. Ingram lapped at her more insistently, thumbs digging into Haylen’s rib cage. She was not a small woman, even larger in her modified power armor frame. Beside her, Haylen was small, elfin. The pressure of Ingram’s massive hands was exquisite agony, doing more to restrict her airflow than the scrap of fabric on her ragged lips.

Dizzy, throat hoarse, Haylen gave a final cry and came against Ingram’s mouth, her cries muffled by her wadded camisole. Gasping and slack in the other woman’s hands, she let it fall from her lips and sucked in great lungfuls of air as Ingram pulled away, grinning and licking her lips.

“Good girl,” she said, patting Haylen’s thighs. “Wish I could’ve listened to you scream my name while you came.” She pressed a wet, bruising kiss to Haylen’s inner thigh, inches from her aching cunt. Gasping and shivering, Haylen touched the mark with unsteady hands.

Ingram winked up at her. “Something to remember this by.” She hauled herself up into a standing position, and leaned in to kiss Haylen. A brief, intense press of her hot mouth to Haylen’s chapped lips, there and then gone like a July rainstorm.

Haylen pressed her undershirt to her bare chest, shivering at the taste of her juices on the older woman’s lips. “Thank you,” she said, breathless and ragged. Fingers numb and clumsy from clutching, she reached for her discarded trousers. “Can I return the favor?”

The other woman hesitated for a moment. “You got me really worked up, but it’s too much hassle to get out of the frame,” she said. “But I got a few tricks up my sleeve, don’t you worry about me. I’ll take care of myself once I’m back on the Prydwen.”

“Oh,” said Haylen, disappointed. “I didn’t realize you were leaving again so soon.”

“Duty calls,” said Ingram, without enthusiasm. “It was a miracle I talked Maxson into this brief trip. If I’m not back within the window he allotted me, he’s never going to let me out of the pit again.”

“It’s not fair,” said Haylen. The heat of her words surprised even herself, but she couldn’t stop herself speaking after the first word escaped her lips. “You’re not made of glass. You belong out in the field, not stuck in the armor bay.”

Ingram smiled sardonically. “You’re telling me,” she said. “You’re wasted in this fucking station, I can tell you that. Both of us belong out there.” She faltering, sighing like she’d wrung out her soul. “I won’t name any names, but _somebody’s_ got some funny fucking ideas about protecting and serving.”

“Wish you could stay here,” said Haylen. She folded her arms over her bare chest, undershirt still clenched in her fist.

“Me too,” said Ingram. “But I’ll be remembering you fondly, don’t worry.”

Blushing, Haylen was struck with a sudden idea. She thrust her undershirt at Ingram. “Here,” she said. “Something to remember this moment.”

Ingram looked at her for a moment, and Haylen worried that she’d made a fool of herself. But then Ingram laughed, took the camisole from her and buried her face in it, inhaling deeply. “Smells like you,” she said, a note of approval in her voice. “Smells real good.”

Haylen’s fingers wandered over the bruise on her leg. “An even trade.”

Ingram kissed her again, rougher and more lingering. Her ungentle touch left Haylen flushed and breathless, desperate for more even though her cunt still throbbed.

“I should go,” said the older woman. “Keep up appearances, and all that. _Plus_ I’d like to get back to my room, have a private moment.” She grinned wickedly and helped Haylen clamber off the workbench. “You alright here?”

“Just fine,” said Haylen. She dressed, and her jacket was coarse against her nipples, teasing the sensitive buds into stiff peaks. She squirmed, aroused and very pleasantly aware of her nakedness underneath her coat. Haylen stood on her tiptoes and kissed Ingram fleetingly, wishing that the other woman could remain with her in Cambridge.

“I’ll be seeing you, then,” she murmured.

“Soon,” said Ingram firmly.

Haylen shivered, a frisson of arousal and anticipation. “Soon,” she repeated, cheeks warm. “Soon.”


End file.
